A cascade of precisely timed notes resonated through the hall to permeate his thoughtful reflection. As if they communicated on a level unmarred by indecision, the music echoed the sentiment within him.
All too soon, the tempo changed, and he fell in stride with each striking chord as it dominated the new rhythm and forced him forward. He arrived at the door of the music room and watched in silence, the pianoforte positioned near the large mullioned windows overlooking the gardens behind the house. Seated with her back to the door, Charlotte would never know the convenience he enjoyed due to the judicious placement of furniture. Her fingers caressed the keys; many a night he spent wondering how those slender fingers would feel lingering across his skin with the same scrupulous finesse.
The song came to a crescendo, and he angled his body forward, his heartbeat quickening. How absolutely fetching she appeared in the throes of concentration, cheeks flushed pink and delicate brows furrowed in attentiveness, though his view of her profile proved fleeting. The candlelit epergne atop the pianoforte lent a burnished glow to her silky brown hair, neatly arranged in a braided coronet. Would she object were he to remove the pins and thread his fingers through the lengths? Would she welcome a kiss placed to the graceful slope of her neck?
A sustained final note pierced through the haze of his admiration, and he turned into the hall and made his way abovestairs. Still his questions resonated. What if he’d charged into the room? What if he’d dared show, without words, how well and thoroughly he loved his wife? Guilt fueled his hesitation, the answer all too obvious. Were Charlotte to discover what he’d done to gain her hand in marriage, she would despise him and sever all ties with him forever.
Chapter Two
Charlotte greeted her mother with an enthusiastic embrace.
This home a mere six miles from Dearing House, she may as well have crossed to the other side of the globe, the households were so different. Her parents were a love match, an affectionate and demonstrative couple who raised their four daughters to practice the same. She’d grown from childhood to adulthood with the knowledge a true relationship offered more than a shared roof. Was it any wonder Charlotte found Dearing and his restrained attention disappointing and unnatural? Pushing the thought from her mind, she relished the comfort found in her mother’s arms.
“You look lovely, dear.” Francine Notley beamed as she held Charlotte at arm’s length. “Your sisters will be delighted to discover you’ve arrived, but not nearly as much as your father. Why haven’t we seen more of you? Your new husband isn’t monopolizing all your time now, is he?”
The twinkle in her mother’s eyes pierced Charlotte’s heart. She was married less than a year and considered a newlywed. The assumption that certain intimacies were frequent and exciting was expected.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She forced a laugh. “I’ve spent a good stretch of time organizing Dearing House and redecorating the rooms in want of a woman’s touch.” She didn’t dare confess she’d struggled with the desire to rush to her parents’ home too many times to tally and often practiced the pianoforte until fatigued. “Married life is an adjustment.”
“You wouldn’t deceive me, would you?” Francine’s expression sobered, and a wrinkle of apprehension marred her forehead. “Your father and I struggled with the decision to arrange your betrothal and we worry still. We want every happiness for you, despite the haste.”
“Of course. I know that without doubt.” Charlotte had long ago accepted the circumstances that led to her marriage. Her father, a respected peer, had met with a devastating spiral of unforeseen loss, the likes of which no one at his club could explain. One investment after another had failed, to the point at which he no longer trusted his instincts, baffled by the lack of success where others profited. Eventually, facing unsurmountable debt amassed and his confidence obliterated, he’d retained a fiscal adviser who took control of the remaining monies. Regrettably, the sparse savings assumed by the adviser were lost in a matter of weeks and their fate sealed.
Charlotte never openly objected when she learned of the betrothal contract. Aside from her strong familial bond and sense of duty, she found Jeremy Lockhart, Viscount Dearing, as captivating and heroic as the characters in the gothic novels her sisters favored. Modest and at times insecure, she didn’t possess Amelia’s gregarious personality or unmatched beauty, so the appealing thought of a quick courtship with Dearing didn’t upset her, confident their relationship would grow naturally into a lifelong friendship. The assumption Dearing had desired a promising marriage need not be debated. Despite her family not having made his acquaintance previously, the fact that Lord Dearing had sought her out signaled that he hoped for the same as she.
Furthermore, she welcomed the opportunity to help her parents. Her sisters would all need formal introductions to society, and then there were ceremonies and dowries to consider. Dearing had approached her father and proposed a solution to their imminent crisis at the most perilous moment. Charlotte had admired her new husband for extricating her family from ruin.
That was not to say she wasn’t nervous and didn’t question her ability to be the kind of wife such an admirable gentleman deserved. But in the larger picture, all things considered, she hadn’t bemoaned her circumstances, certain that, once married, the natural course of things would prevail.
Unfortunately, from that point things hadn’t proceeded as planned. Now, burdened with a distinct sense of disillusionment, she fought against growing fear and distress. Was it wrong for her to hope her husband found her comely? Acceptable at the least? She’d garnered attention from other suitors, and Dearing had initiated the marriage proposal independently.
She shook her head and dismissed those thoughts. Now was not the time for maudlin woolgathering. “How I’ve missed all of you. The quietude of marriage cannot compare to the lively chatter of Dinah, Louisa and Beatrice.”
“Indeed.” Her mother’s smile returned. “You must stay through the midday meal. Father won’t be home until noon, but your sisters will be downstairs any minute now.”
As if carefully orchestrated, animated chatter filled the hall. The lively conversation paused as her sisters entered the room, and then transformed into a vociferous melee of questions and delighted squeals.
“Do tell us about married life.” Dinah, the oldest of her siblings, spoke above the others, impatience and laughter in her eyes. “We’ve missed you, and the letters you’ve sent are not as forthcoming as we’d requested. Have you set up house, or did Lord Dearing already have a reliable staff? What of the cook? Have you redecorated or does Dearing have an agreeable sense of style?”
All eyes turned in her direction. “You act as if you haven’t seen me since the wedding.”
“It’s been forever since your last visit, as if you’ve fallen off the earth.” Louisa, the mischievous middle sister, wiggled her brows. “We assumed you were blissfully ensconced in the nuances of wifely duty, swept away by the romantic pursuit of your husband and bound to midnight secrecy by the passion you share.”
A burst of giggles followed Louisa’s dramatic exclamation, though their mother shook her head and tutted her disapproval.
“You’ve read too many gothic novels,” Charlotte reprimanded, all the while swallowing past the emotion her sister’s comments evoked. If they knew the unfortunate circumstances of her situation, they would share her despair, yet she could never reveal how useless and unwanted she felt.
Dearing had left on a business excursion the day after their wedding ceremony, wherein the planned two weeks turned into four, then six. By the time he’d returned, her disappointment had hardened, resolve in place, buttressed behind walls of inadequacy and confusion. The following months were civil at best, until they now lived like cordial strangers.
“He’s terribly handsome. You must agree.” Beatrice, who went by the endearment Bunny, piped up next, her blue eyes glazed with a dreamy twinkle.
When Dinah and Charlotte first saw her, swaddled in
blankets, all pink skin and fuzzy hair about her head, they had immediately likened their newborn sister to a baby rabbit. Charlotte wondered how Bunny would feel once presented to society. Would she prefer the formal Beatrice or the tender image conjured by her endearing nickname?
“Yes, he is.” Heat rushed to Charlotte’s face, and she resisted the urge to place her hands on her cheeks. “Now, tell me what adventures have occupied the three of you since I’ve left.” Determined to deflect another probing question, she resettled on the chair while conversation swarmed around her in alternating tales of lively chatter.
Dinah and Bunny produced fashion plates and elaborated on the gowns they hoped to wear during the next Season, though Louisa seemed less interested. Usually the most talkative, Charlotte wondered if Louisa had something else on her mind or merely had surrendered to her sisters and their enthusiastic descriptions of the latest designs and essential frippery.
Two hours later, when her siblings had scattered, Charlotte remained alone in the drawing room. Her father entered and, without a word, wrapped her in a secure embrace of welcome.
“Now isn’t this the pleasantest surprise? Your sisters have badgered you to exhaustion, have they?” He led her to the overstuffed settee beside the hearth. “It’s the only reason that would keep you here in the drawing room alone.”
“I worried I would miss you. I’d be disappointed if we hadn’t had the opportunity to visit.” She tried but failed to keep her emotional state from coloring her words.
“Does something trouble you, Charlotte? Are you finding marriage agreeable?” The familiar strength of his hand settled over hers and his eyes softened. Both parents had asked the same question at first seeing her despite her bravest attempt to conceal her disappointment. She would need to do better.
At her silence, he continued. “Your betrothal was not decided easily. I know we’ve spoken of this before and you’ve never complained, but you must know your mother and I saw no other way to keep the family solvent. At the same time, we observed qualities in Dearing that convinced us he would make a fine husband. He expressed a great fondness for you. So much so, at first I doubted his sincerity.”
“What do you mean, Father?” They’d spoken of the arrangement before, but her father never shared these revelations. “And why are we just discussing this now?”
“Considering the haste and circumstance of your marriage, there never seemed a right time. Although I see no harm in the explanation, most especially if it allays whatever has brought sorrow to the depths of your eyes.”
“Please. Tell me everything.” She wriggled her hand free and passed her fingers over her eyes. Yet it was her father’s infallible composure that seemed to alter, a long-held breath released slowly before he spoke again.
“Good Lord, child. You behave as if I’ve shackled you to an ogre. Dearing didn’t wander in from the street with a blank bank draft and an improper proposal, nor did I consider his offer lightly. After hearing him out, I made quick work of hiring an investigator. Never would I marry off one of my cherished daughters without full knowledge of my future son-in-law’s history.
“As you are already aware, Dearing is a respected member of society. He assumed great debt to restore our financial standing and at the same time expressed sincere interest in you. Apparently, he’d heard you play the pianoforte at the Bellsums’ garden party last summer and became decidedly smitten. He led me to believe you’d never left his thoughts.”
Her father paused, and she knew her face had colored crimson. It all seemed rather odd, to have her father’s reassurances of her husband’s interest when Dearing made no effort to so much as touch her, kiss her or carry on meaningful conversation. Perhaps if her music affected him, she would insist he join her in the parlor each time she practiced. Or instead, she should rail at him and breech their silent civility, as Amelia suggested. Something needed to be done.
“Go on, Father. Please.”
“There’s not much more to tell. You’re clever enough to know life is complicated. As I age, I pay closer attention to the passage of time. How could it be coincidence that Dearing would intercede and rescue our family, all the while proclaiming his affection for you from a chance viewing? Here stood a man of significant income, amiable, polite and well accepted, who arrived at a crucial moment. A greater power could only be at work.” He cleared his throat. “Is there anything else, Charlotte? I doubt you wish to know the detailed marriage agreement and financial intricacies. Discussion of money is not meant for a lady’s ears.”
She wrinkled her brow and met her father’s eyes. “I’m not sure.” She couldn’t help but sense there was something left unsaid. Something important. A sinking feeling of her own worth in Dearing’s eyes stalled the question on her tongue. “No, nothing more.”
She forced a smile, and the dull ache produced by the realization the situation was hers alone to resolve became stronger now than ever. “You and Mother were a love match.”
“Yes, but not every couple begins with uncomplicated ease. An arranged marriage does not preclude a content existence. I’m confident your life will be equally as fulfilling given time, and I’m relieved you haven’t more questions.”
“You are?”
“Indeed.” He nodded to confirm the point. “I wish for you to be pleased and settled. Besides, if I have limited time with you before you steal away, I want to spend it otherwise. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes.” She rose from the settee and smothered lingering doubt, unwilling to waste any more precious time during her visit. “Good heavens, you must be hungry. Mother mentioned a lovely luncheon upon your return. Let’s find the others.”
“Excellent idea.”
He joined her with a reassuring glint of fatherly wisdom in his eyes. It fortified her determination to venture home and change things for the better.
“You should know our family finances are stable and secure once more. I honestly cannot explain the incongruity. The very same investments that crippled our resources less than a year ago are thriving and now earn three times the income.”
Her father continued, though she scarcely heard the words, her mind awhirl, and all at once anxious to return to Dearing House.
Indeed it was time to take matters into her own hands.
* * *
“Will that be all, milord?”
Dearing raised his eyes from the document in front of him, though he hadn’t comprehended a word. A glance of acknowledgment to his secretary was followed by an immediate shift to the clock. He’d accomplished little, preoccupied by the discovery that his lady wife remained out of the house while the hour approached three in the afternoon.
“Yes, you may go.” The words were a murmur, yet they served their purpose, and he was left alone, ensconced in silence and muddled thinking soon after.
Earlier, the housekeeper was quick to relay that Charlotte had traveled to her parents’ home. Unfortunately, Mrs. Hubbles proved slower to conceal the flicker of disapproval in her expression. What did the staff think of him, barely cognizant of his wife’s whereabouts? Did they believe him disinterested? Self-absorbed? Certainly the servants gossiped about the separate bedrooms and formal relationship that hadn’t lessened over time.
Another hour and Charlotte would practice the pianoforte. He’d come to long for the first notes of her melodies. No matter how deeply buried in business or entrenched in correspondence, it was as if his internal clock ticked off the minutes until he could breathe again. Breathe and imagine a different manner of living. One he’d planned meticulously but as of yet had failed to execute.
Voices echoed from the foyer as Hudson, the house butler, opened and closed the front door. Dearing at once recognized the high-pitched laughter of Charlotte’s lady’s maid chased by the dulcet tone of his wife’s voice in response.
Why couldn’t he accomplish the same carefree discussion filled with amusing anecdotes and charming rejoinders? He swallowed, his throat thick with conflicted emotion
s, feelings of desire, uncertainty and guilt.
He glanced across the room, his gaze settling on the black leather box positioned on the corner of his desk before he moved toward the hall. He paused a few strides from entering. Their town house was modest by societal measure, but the front of their property faced west, and with its large rectangular windows, the foyer became bathed in the late-day sun, setting every precious surface awash in a shimmering glow. His wife stood at the center of this light, captured in a golden caress, her profile limned, each loose tendril of hair kissed by gilded sunshine. His heart squeezed with her beauty.
The butler and maid had wandered off to attend to different tasks, though Charlotte waited beside the Chippendale console, an irritable frown on her face as she wrestled with one of her leather gloves, the button seemingly uncooperative.
“Allow me.” He stepped forward, aware of her discomfit, evidenced by the jerk of her slim shoulders and whispered gasp of breath. Would that he caused her to feel at ease in his company, but nothing in their relationship had proceeded in a comfortable manner, and he held the blame. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He’d all but reached her side, and her reaction compounded his ambivalence.
“I . . .” She paused. Her eyes scanned his face, as if she searched for something specific. “I didn’t know you were there, that’s all.”
She’d abandoned the task at hand when he’d entered and now remained with one glove on, the other discarded beside her bonnet, and he recalled their wedding day and how soft her palm had felt within his, how fragile her grasp as he slipped the ring upon her finger. Yet those same hands commanded power, as if a sorceress, when she worked the ivory keys of the piano.
Sunlight colored her cheeks with a warm blush, her long lashes fanned above crystalline-blue eyes. His wife was stunning. What an utter fool he’d become. He’d lost his heart and subsequently lost his voice.
“Good afternoon, Lady Dearing.”
London's Best Kept Secret Page 2
